


yes, I'd do it again

by choiyoonas



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blake is literal babey, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Internalized Homophobia (kinda), M/M, Tom Blake Lives, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23344543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choiyoonas/pseuds/choiyoonas
Summary: william schofield may just have to watch the love of his life die in his arms. keyword: may. or: the nobody-dies-and-things-are-kind-of-ok au that no one asked for.
Relationships: Tom Blake & William Schofield, Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	yes, I'd do it again

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: uhhh the shit you recognize ain’t mine

No-one asked Lance Corporal William Schofield if he would walk through Ecoust from no man's land and into the Le Croisilles wood for Thomas Blake. If someone had, he would say "yes, I’d do it again. And again, if he wanted me to.” Will already did it once. A second or third time would be easy compared to that first time. Struggling through the French countryside alone, not knowing the fate of his companion. Surely that stab wound was fixable, right?

William sat in the little field, holding tight to the body in his arms. The damn German had stabbed Thomas, his friend, his lover, in the stomach. Not too deep, though; it had been all too easy to wrench away the knife, throw it into the grass. Will shot him twice to be sure he was dead. And now, here Tom was, bleeding, in Will’s arms. Tom, lovely as always, head in Will’s lap and hand under his, over that wound in his abdomen. he'd only been bleeding a few minutes, but as the seconds ticked by, Will felt an increasing sense of dread. 

"No, no," Will whispered, scared out of his mind. He held onto Tom, watched as blood seeped through cloth and onto their hands. If Tom died, here and now, it might just crush him completely. Will's only known Tom about a year and loved him for an even shorter time; he couldn't lose Tm, not in this stupid, bloody war.

“I love you, y’know that?” Tom said, eyes on Will. Only Will, like always. His voice brought Will back, tore his gaze away from all that red.

“Yeah, ‘course I know, you tell me every chance you get. I love you too.” Will wiped the tears from his face with his free hand, trying to appear strong. If only for Tom, he would make it out of this shit situation. They had come this far. It would be insulting for their mission to end here, in this field, a few feet away from that damned pilot. Then he heard footsteps. Will held the cloth pressed to the wound a bit tighter, trying to make that awful metallic stench making its way up to his nostrils go away. It wouldn't go away, no matter how hard he tried. For months, years after, Will's hands would never, never be clean enough. 

“S’alright, Will, love.” Tom's voice was soft as he gazed up at him. His Will, beautiful and brave, willing to go any distance, anywhere. And for _him,_ of all people. For his brother Joe, by extension. If he made it out of this hellhole, Tom was going to make sure Will knew just how much he loved him. The footsteps of earlier got louder; two soldiers approached. Will couldn’t tell what their ranks were, not that it mattered, but he was curious.

“You need some help, there, mate?” One says, “It’s alright.” His voice grew gentle; his companion called to their unit not far off. The other men stepped toward Will and Tom, offering their help. Will wanted to cry; the war hadn't been kind to him in months, why should this moment be any different?

“Please, help him,” Will says immediately, “Don’t worry about me. We have a mission to complete... Take him, please. The longer we stand here, the worse off he’ll be.” Will realized tears were making their way down his face as he spoke, scared and helpless. Will really did not want to leave Tom, but time had become their enemy; he needed to get to Tom's brother, to the Devons. It would have felt unbecoming to cry if Will gave a shit, but he didn’t. The other two soldiers nodded as Will stood. Will looked at Tom in his arms, face slowly losing color.

“Listen, Tom, these nice gentlemen are going to help us out a bit, and they can’t do that if you’re on the ground, so up we get,” Tom’s gaze met Will’s, and he nodded. With help from Will and the two others, Tom stood, though he winced. He exchanged a glance with Will, who took his hand and squeezed it. 

“Was it the plane? We saw smoke,” One of the other men asked, glancing at the ruined plane behind them. He didn't see the body of the pilot, thankfully. Will didn't want to have to talk about murder. Doing it had been hard enough. 

“Yeah,” Will replies, almost too quickly. It’s easier than the truth, that Tom had been stabbed trying to help the pilot. Easier than admitting it was Will’s fault, for turning his back, for putting his trust in the fucking enemy. The other soldiers walked Tom and Will to where the rest of their unit was, three caravans and a car, all full of men on their way to who knows where. When they reached the line of vehicles, an officer met them halfway from the farmhouse and the car. He asked Will where they were going.

“I’m headed to Ecoust, there’s a message I need to deliver as soon as possible. This one needs to get to the nearest aid post. Please.” Will tells the officer, trying not to let his voice break as he spoke and betray how horrible he felt. He should have shot the German bastard when he had the chance, but what if he had? It would mean Tom would be in even more danger, going out into the thick of it with Will. _What if the war wasn’t going on? What if he could marry Tom and they could live together happily, free from the troubles of the world, of this damn war that would surely tear them apart, mentally and physically?_ Will had turned over those questions many a sleepless night in the trench, but thinking too much gave him a headache or made him cry. Will shook his head, tried to clear his mind. It was futile, as per usual.

“We’ve got enough room, though I'm afraid only one of you. We’re going past, so we can take you part of the way. We’ll make sure your friend gets patched up, don’t worry.” The officer must have seen Will's stricken expression; leaving Tom would be awful, but bearable. Maybe.

“Thank you, sir.” Relief washed over Will, filling him with a warm, hopeful feeling. Hope was a dangerous thing, but it felt good to hold on it, if only for a little while. The officer explained their predicament to a higher up, so Will got in the truck. Tom went to the nearest aid post to have his wound treated; Will saw the men who had helped them guiding him away. Will tried not to dwell on it, on the truth before him. He’d only known his feeling for Tom a short while, but Will knew he was the man he wanted to be with for as long as destiny allowed. It hadn’t been easy, realizing how he felt and scrounging up the alone time to tell the bloke. At first, Tom hadn't believed him. That was until their lips met for the first time. _That_ showed him, alright.

Along his way to the Devons, Will almost got shot, passed out at least once, and encountered a French woman alone with a baby who wasn’t hers. The river he’d floated through had been beautiful; cherry blossoms had made their way to the water. They reminded him of Thomas and his little tale of picking cherries with his brother in their mother's orchard at home, in England. When he got back to his regiment (and he would get back, thank you very much), Tom would be there waiting for him, Will was sure of it. It made him smile to think of Tom fighting tooth and nail to stay, to wait for Will. He delivered the message as planned, though finding Colonel Mackenzie had been far too difficult. Will found Tom’s brother (just like him, a little older).

"Lieutenant Blake?' He asks, unsure.

"Yes?" Will sighs in relief; he tells him about being from the 8th, Tom, and their mission; Will even manages to mention his and Tom's romantic relationship, new and scary as it was. The feeling of sharing that kind of information with someone else was strange, at first, but Joseph just smiled. It was no surprise to him, of course; Mrs. Blake had mentioned Tom’s letters and his many mentions of a man called Will Schofield in her writings to her eldest son. Blake thanked Will for being by his brother’s side, making sure he didn’t become one of many numbers in a long list of war casualties. If he had, it might have broken Will beyond repair. As he stood, then, Will couldn't wait to see Tom again. They shook hands. Three days later, Will was back with the 8th, and his boy. His _darling_ boy. It felt surreal to be back in the place he started; all that work only to have gone in a circle.

He found Tom rather quickly. Or Tom found him. Either way, the two reunited at last. And Will would be damned if he’d let the man he’d almost lost out of his sight again. Seeing his lover again after the week of his life, not knowing if Tom was alive or dead, had been an enormous relief. There was his Thomas, all flesh and blood and very much not dead. 

"Missed you." Tom says softly as they hug. They stood by the same tree they'd been under when their lives got turned upside down. It feels so nice to hug him, Will thinks, feeling the warmth of his skin and weight of Tom's hands on his waist.

"I missed you, too," Will says, not holding his companion now, but still close to him, "The time I spent without you was awful." Tom smiles at Will despite himself, despite the truth to Will’s words. It was that goofy little smile Will would never get enough of. Will returns it and holds Tom’s hand a little tighter. 

"Six days felt more like six _years_."

The war ended two years later. By some miracle, they made it out alive. Will was glad it was over; so glad he would never have to worry about whether he would make it through the day, live or die, in those damn trenches. He and Tom returned to England together. They found a flat above a little bookshop in south London and took over the store as well. They made sure it was near both Will’s sister Sarah (and her darling daughters) and Joseph and his wife. Will and Tom ran the bookshop together with love and care.   
  


Each night, together they walked up the stairs to their little flat to their shared bed; Will often fell asleep in Tom’s arms. The nightmares persisted for years after. They found it hard to forget what they had seen in the trenches, like nearly all survivors of that same horrible war. It was even harder for Will to forget the feeling of holding Tom in his arms as he lay bleeding, near to dying. Tom was always there to wipe away his tears and assure him everything was alright, as Will was for him. It wasn’t just the nightmare that plagued either of them, but with Tom by his side, Will could get through it. The nightmares were arguably the hardest part, stuck in moments where he’d become helpless, unable to stop the war from tarnishing innocence and hurting those he loved most. Once that horrible war was over and the worst three years of his life behind him, Will could feel true peace again. As it turned out, peace involved a whole lot of Saturday mornings, together, on their couch that needed reupholstering. Or, lying in bed until noon, enjoying the company of a cherished lover.

**Author's Note:**

> recently i rewatched 1917 and i knew i had write something with these characters i had grown so fond of. writing this was kind of hard; i hope i was able to convey war and its effects adequately. I hope you enjoyed reading this; feel free to comment or leave kudos. my tumblr is @90sgranger if you want to follow me there :D


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